


Dubious Choices

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: Dubious Consent Trilogy [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Character of Color, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Piercing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-10
Updated: 2008-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Chase doesn't know he's messed up. Having an affair with your boss is not the best of ideas. But he's trying to get a handle on what's going on--in his head and in House's--and sticking it out seems the best way of accomplishing that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dubious Choices

By the time he got to the locker room, Chase's mind was running a pretty steady litany of "Okay, okay, okay..." except for the part which was helpfully suggesting, "Not okay."

Sitting down was--he winced--not what he really wanted to be doing. He leaned against the bank of lockers and groaned, eyes twisted shut.

"You okay?"

That was Foreman's voice.

Chase lifted his head from his arm and looked up to see Foreman a few lockers away, staring concernedly at him. This was a problem. Well, only if he started asking questions. Chase didn't feel he was up to coming up with a good explanation for why he was in the locker room forty-five minutes after he was supposed to have left, smelling like sex and sweat and shaking in panic.

Foreman's expression went from curious to seriously concerned, and Chase realized he'd been staring for exactly too long to brush off Foreman's question with a _yeah, fine._ Shit.

"Um, sorta, it's personal," he tried. 'Personal' might work with Foreman where it wouldn't work with Cameron. Or House. Oh, God.

He waited, trying not to breathe guilt all over himself, as Foreman looked him up and down, frowned, and finally asked, "This have anything to do with the thing between you and House?"

Chase seriously considered not breathing any more after that. Then he'd be unconscious, from hypoxia. He'd still have to answer questions when he woke up, but maybe he could claim brain damage. Yeah.

Foreman was still staring. "What thing?" Chase said, in what he hoped was a dignified and solemn squeak of terror.

Foreman actually rolled his eyes at that. "The sex thing," he said. Chase groaned and hid his face back in his arm.

"Who else knows?" he finally got the courage to ask.

"Actually, you guys have been pretty discreet," Foreman said, reluctant acknowledgment shining through his voice. "Cuddy _definitely_ doesn't know, and I don't think Cameron has caught on yet."

Chase took a deep breath and stood up. "Could be worse, then."

Foreman nodded amiably, then gave him another hard look. "You look like you could use a drink," he suggested. "I'll get the first round?"

Which is how he found himself in a booth at a bar only a few blocks from the hospital, staring at a half-empty glass and hoping that the mild condescension Foreman was staring at him with would evaporate by the time they hit work the next day.

"So," Foreman said.

Chase looked up. He wasn't the best at reading facial expressions, God knew, but he was pretty sure that one was _I don't really want to know, but I have to ask._ "Yeah?"

Foreman looked upwards for a moment and asked, "What exactly _did_ House have up your ass?"

Chase tried to be glad he wasn't currently choking on his beer. The response he managed to get out was, "How..."

"I did my time in the ER," Foreman said. "I know what a guy looks like when he's had something in his colon that seemed like a good idea at the time, but turned into an embarrassing story." He paused while Chase pondered the truth of that, then offered, "The weirdest I ever saw was a fluorescent light bulb."

Chase frowned. "Like industrial lighting?"

"Nope, the twisty kind."

Chase pondered that for a moment, then winced in sympathy. Foreman continued, "That wasn't the ward record, though. That was the guy who had crammed in two cellphones and an iPod. Just for the sheer dollar value of that hardware."

"How did he explain that one?"

Foreman rolled his eyes. "He seriously tried the 'I slipped in the shower' routine. Three times. Unluckiest ass I've ever heard of."

Chase snickered. Foreman nodded, then said, "So, just out of curiosity, what did you slip and accidentally impale yourself on?"

"Um," Chase said. He swallowed.

Foreman just watched him, eyebrow raised.

Finally, he admitted, "House's... right hand."

Foreman's face went blank, nonplussed. After a second he asked, "What, like his fingers?"

"No, um..." Chase took a breath, then another swallow of beer, flat-tasting on his tongue. "Like, to the wrist."

Foreman's eyebrows went up slightly as he stared. And while part of Chase wanted to just dive under the table, another part of him kept his back straight while he took another drink, because fuck it. What was the kinkiest thing Foreman had ever got up to? Certainly nothing that impressive.

"Um, ow," Foreman opined.

Chase shrugged. "It wasn't that bad," he said, suppressing the memory of the one or two moments when it felt like he was going to be ripped open. That had gone quickly. And the rest of it--shit, how that had _felt_\--

"So what caused the freakout?"

He needed to get better at controlling his expression. If he'd had this conversation during work hours, House would _kill_ him. And Foreman was giving him that look again--the _I know there's something going on here, and it's just easier for us both if you just talk_ look.

"Wilson walked in," he finally said.

Foreman raised his eyebrows. "Before, after..."

"During," Chase admitted.

"Ouch."

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Shit. He--"

"He got an eyeful?"

He was blushing. He could feel that. Silently cursing his complexion, he continued, "Yeah. Um. Figured it out, anyway."

He didn't really want to rem--okay, that was probably a lie. He remembered, anyway, Wilson's face, his eyes skipping up and down and finally widening when he figured out what he was looking at. Staring Chase down in shock, aghast and maybe? A little jealous?

"So what happened?" Foreman asked.

Chase took a shuddering breath, stared at the table, and admitted, "I had the most intense orgasm of my entire life."

House's voice in his ear. Wilson staring as the world suddenly broke apart.

Foreman grunted, then said, "Okay, didn't expect that to be the punchline."

"Fucking _hell_," Chase muttered.

"Well, Wilson is House's only friend," Foreman said. "I don't think you're in too much trouble, unless he's crazy jealous."

"Right."

Foreman rolled his empty glass in between his hands for a moment. When Chase failed to produce any more commentary, he asked, "So assuming that Wilson doesn't tell Cuddy and get both of you fired, how long do you think you two are going to keep this up?"

Chase thought about that terrified, shivery feeling; the expression on Wilson's face, the remaining items on the handwritten list he'd handed over.

"We'll keep it discreet," he finally said.

Foreman snorted. "You're buying the next round."

* * *

House was, Chase rediscovered the next day when he was sent on an errand to take a copy of their patient's file over to Wilson, a complete sadist.

He knew that, of course. It was part of the reason he'd thought about going to House in the first place.

And House--he was obviously into the power thing, that much was clear from every fucking day. And while Chase hadn't yet seen any indication that House was into, y'know, sex, with him, he was getting some kind of charge off it or he wouldn't be so _good_ at it.

(One night, House told him to strip in his office and had him stand there, stark fucking naked, nose almost touching the blinds with House's hand wrapped around his dick, House's voice in his ear--_if you move, if you breathe too much, if you **come too hard** then people in the hallway are going to **see you**_\--and just when he couldn't _stand_ it House pulled him backwards and brought him over the edge, sudden and almost painful.)

"Latest MRI results," he said when he got to Wilson's office, and as Wilson held out his hand for the file he could only remember seeing Wilson seeing him with House and he stopped being really able to talk.

"I already knew," Wilson said.

Wilson's face held that weird kind of concern where Chase could never tell if it was genuine or not; he'd faked it with exactly that expression before. "You..."

"House told me."

House _told_ him?

"Last week," Wilson continued, "Which wasn't actually enough time to brace myself, it turned out."

That was--he smirked--actually kinda funny, when you thought about it. "Sorry."

"Whatever." Wilson put the file on his desk and flipped it open. "I don't care what two consenting adults do in their free time. Just... leave me out of it."

Chase had been trying. Well, hadn't so much been trying as he'd been following House's instructions to not mention anything at work, to keep this from blowing up in his face.

"Yeah, you got it," he agreed.

House had told him. What the fuck.

It was lunchtime and their patient wasn't coding or anything, so House was staring at his computer and Foreman and Cameron were away doing something sensible like eating. House didn't look up when he came in, stood in front of his desk, or put his hands on his hips, so finally he just said, "You told Wilson?"

House looked up at him with a disdain that could melt icebergs, and lodged a pinprick of guilt and shame in his spine, right between his last two vertebrae. "The rule was nothing at work," he said disdainfully. "Save it."

The rest of the day was just _swell_.

But he came back, after hours, a little less righteous but just as angry. "You told--" he started, only to be stopped when House thrust a disreputable-looking paper bag at his chest.

"Here," House said, waiting until he took it.

You told Wilson, he thought, then shook his head. "Here, what?" he asked. The last time House had handed him something from a shop that sent home purchases in anonymous paper, it had been a bright red butt plug that he'd just been terrified of getting caught with.

House, of course, refused to just tell him, so he finally gave up and looked.

It was... pink. He reached in and tilted the stiff plastic packaging so he could get a better look at the thing. Pink, and long--oh, it was one of those double-ended things. But... House meant...

"What's this?" he asked nervously.

"Obviously it's a double-ended dildo," House said. "So you can practice cocksucking."

It was a little shocking to hear House say 'cocksucking', not because House wouldn't say anything to shock people, but the combination of House actually _saying_ it, and the thought of being _forced_ to, and the pink thing in the bag. He frowned. "It's _pink_," he complained, not sure why he was so annoyed.

"What, it doesn't go with anything in your closet?"

Well, that made--he suddenly realized that the pink thing was a foot long, and... shit. "You want me to..." swallow this thing, was the end of that sentence, but he couldn't make himself say it.

"Yeah," House said, either mind-reading or just making an easy assumption.

He grimaced and snuck another look at the toy. "It's kinda..." he rejected 'ugly', 'bendy', and 'gay' before settling on "wide."

"I'm sure you'll get used to it," House said dismissively. "Go on."

He rolled his eyes and shoved the bag under his arm. _That went well_, he thought as he left.

He'd made it a few steps down the hallway before he realized that House had completely kept the subject of just what he'd told Wilson out of play. Chase pondered just letting it go for a moment, then turned around and faced House again.

House was smirking at him. Bastard.

"Seriously. You told Wilson?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"I felt like it," House said, shrugging.

Capricious, cruel, sadistic, _unfair_. "But--" he argued futilely.

"You can tell _your_ friends," House offered. "As long as you're sure they won't get me fired."

Chase actually had a rebuttal to that. He could have said something like _Foreman already knows, so you're not quite as clever as you think you are._ He considered it, seriously, for half a second. He turned over a couple versions of the sentence in his head, even, deciding whether to put the emphasis on 'clever' or not.

"Great, and maybe you can fuck them too," he said, instead.

Because that was one revelation he didn't want to deal with. He shoved the bag with the pink thing further under his arm, turned and left.

* * *

"He wants you to what?" Foreman said. He took another look inside the bag at the pink thing and made a face.

"Practice sucking dick," Chase said. He'd had two beers before he'd been willing to hand the bag over, and the idea seemed at this point more hilarious than anything.

Foreman sighed. "Man, how the hell did he convince you to go through with this, anyway?"

Chase stared at him tipsily. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, House has you bending over his desk, swallowing a dildo... what did he bribe you with?"

It took him a couple seconds to figure out what Foreman was talking about. And then it took him a couple seconds to figure out how to respond. "No..." he finally said, "you don't get it."

"No, you're right, I don't get it," Foreman agreed.

"No, I mean, it was my idea."

Foreman looked at him, confusion deepening, and Chase suddenly realized that making that admission probably wasn't the best thing he'd ever done for his career or his personal life.

But still it was... he needed to set that right, because now he'd given the game up anyway, and it was important that if he was going to be talking about this shit with Foreman, then Foreman needed to understand this very basic, important point. "I asked him," he said when Foreman hadn't responded for a minute. "He just... went along with it."

Foreman, for his part, had dumped the paper bag back on the table and was shaking his head. "I cannot for the life of me understand the crush you and Cameron have on the guy," he said.

"It's not that," Chase said.

"You're fucking him," Foreman pointed out. "I mean, you went to him to ask him to fuck you. How is that not some kind of attraction?"

"I don't want to date him," he snapped. "Cameron wants to fix him, or cuddle him or some shit. I just want..."

About there he ran out of words, because he'd never actually been able to figure out what he did want. It wasn't just the sex. He'd had kinky sex, he'd gone on a couple websites, found some people, been to a few clubs--he'd figured that much out, and it was a hell of a lot easier than actually approaching House. But it had all been lacking something, something he was _getting_ now, he was sure of it. Something that would fix... him.

"Kinky sex?" Foreman asked.

Chase sighed, reached out, picked up the paper bag with the dildo in it again. "Yeah," he said. "None of that romantic shit."

* * *

He couldn't, honestly, face trying to deep-throat the pink thing that first night. He left it in its retro, faux-70s packaging on the floor next to his bed and went to sleep.

The next night he got out his pocketknife and cut the thing out of its plastic cocoon, but the texture in his hand was just too rubbery so he left it on his nightstand.

Day three he suddenly had a terrifying vision of what House would do to him if he _didn't_ get rid of his gag reflex with the thing and finally got up the nerve to put his mouth on it. It tasted awful, like a combination of varnish and boot soles, with a helping of shame and awkwardness. He couldn't keep it in his mouth, much less try and stuff it down his throat.

He went out and bought a pack of flavored condoms. Fake cherry and latex sounded revolting, which was one step up from the pink thing's natural flavor.

It tasted like cough syrup.

Chase scowled at the thing, lying on his bed in front of him. What the fuck. This was ludicrous. If House wanted him to learn to suck dick, he should just--

He sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. Of course, that wasn't the point. The point was that House liked giving embarrassing and pointless orders just to see what would happen. House knew this was going to wind him up, and that was what got _House_ off, more than the sex. Possibly instead of the sex.

And that was the point, Chase thought as he picked up the dildo again. _He_ wanted the sex. House's hands warm on his back, pressing him forward, the sudden rush when those fingers curled around his dick, the tightness in his chest and fear of falling when House's fingers pressed _inside_ him, fuck...

He imagined the feel of House's fingers in his hair. Took a breath, opened his mouth.

* * *

So Chase sort of expected that House would have him lock up the office and go down on him at some point, after that. When it didn't happen for a few weeks he got antsy.

Not that there wasn't actual work during those few weeks. House was still finding about one really interesting case every week, or being assigned a case by Cuddy, so there was plenty to keep all of them occupied. And he tried--House's instructions--to not even think about BDSM or kinky sex or blowjobs at work.

He almost decided that House was just fucking with him, though he kept practicing restraining his gag reflex just to be safe. It was a lot fucking harder than it sounded.

It actually took him by surprise when it finally happened--when and how.

"Hey, Wilson," House said, "want a blowjob?"

The words of the file Chase was updating suddenly went all blurry. He heard Wilson snark back at House, but his mind was full of House saying _you don't even **think** about this during the job_ and Wilson staring as House had him bent over, and House said "Chase has a prettier mouth" out there in the real world and Chase was suddenly painfully hard and not daring to move.

"You can't just--" Wilson started to complain.

"I don't mind," Chase interrupted him. And he didn't. If that was what House wanted. He swallowed, and said, "Really."

He couldn't look up. Didn't want to see Wilson staring at him with--what? Censure, desire?

"I'm so not part of this," Wilson finally said, voice pinched. "Stop trying to drag me in, okay?"

And "Your loss," said House, which meant it was over, not gonna happen, and all the tension rushed out of Chase's shoulders, leaving just a knot in his stomach and a strident demand from his dick to run to the men's room to jerk off. Wilson said something, and House said something else, and the words on the page in front of him were still blurry and useless.

When the door closed because Wilson had left, that's when he finally got the strength to look up in House's direction. House had been watching Wilson go, but he turned and raised his eyebrows, so Chase swallowed and asked, "D'you want..."

He wasn't sure he'd been expecting a yes, but he sure as hell wasn't expecting the dismissal of House's headshake, the slight grimace that said _just not interested_ louder than his offhanded "Nah." After a couple seconds, he added, "What, eager to show off?"

And--God, _why_ was he still so fucking turned on?--that wasn't it, not really, right? "I just," he started to say, "What, didn't you--I thought you... why not?"

"Despite my best efforts, I'm still not gay," House said. "I'll try a new haircut, see if that helps."

And he'd _known_ that, yeah, but Chase had never known anyone to pass up a blowjob like that. Fuck! He took a deep breath and asked, "So why are you doing this, then?"

"Because you asked."

And just as that was hitting him behind the eyes, House smirked and followed up with, "Does that make up for not getting to blow me?"

Fuck it. He was strung out, horny, tired, confused, and _leaving_. "I'll see you tomorrow."

House didn't watch him as he left. He jerked off in the last stall in the bathroom, to thoughts of House's smirk and Wilson not being able to stop himself from saying yes, caught in House's trap.

* * *

He tried to apologize to Wilson the next day. Wilson just glared at him, saying, "You could back me up when I say I don't want to be involved."

And that, that was so fucking unfair he didn't know where to start. Because it wasn't like Chase had asked to get Wilson involved. "You two have your own thing to work out," he snapped, "you tell him."

When he shut the door behind him, he realized that the whole _don't think about it at work_ rule was getting a lot harder to follow.

House wasn't into him. That was weird. House wanted him to blow Wilson. That was even weirder.

At the end of the day, he went up to Foreman. "Help."

Foreman gave him a knowing look. "Need a drink?"

Chase took a hesitant breath. "You, um, probably don't want to listen to me whine..."

"Nope," Foreman acknowledged. "But it is educational."

Chase laughed at that. "Yeah. Um, Yeah, I do. Things have gotten weird."

"For you, weird," Foreman said, somewhat admiringly. "Okay, c'mon."

After they'd gotten their drinks Foreman asked, "So this is weirder than the dildo thing?"

Chase nodded. "House isn't gay."

Foreman looked at him suspiciously. "Fucking you, but not gay."

"Well, I mean, he hasn't actually been..." he made a hand gesture that he hoped encompassed not only actual fucking, but any kind of activity that involved an orgasm. "I mean, he just does shit to me."

Foreman snorted. "Lucky you."

"Yeah, I don't know. And I don't know what's up with him and Wilson."

"He's not gay, but _they're_ sleeping together?"

Chase grimaced. "I don't think so. House just ordered me to go down on him."

Foreman stared at him. "He what?"

"I mean, he asked Wilson if he wanted--y'know." He hadn't touched his beer yet, and that suddenly seemed wrong, wrong, wrong, so he drank until he couldn't swallow any more.

Foreman was waiting when he was done. "So what happened?"

"He said no." Chase shrugged, trying not to make a thing of it. "And then House said no."

Foreman shrugged, then frowned thoughtfully. "I guess there's no way to not take that personally, hunh."

"Not really."

"So House--"

"Holy shit," Chase cut him off, because several things fell into place all at once, the expression on Wilson's face and House's offer and the way House had told him to come right when Wilson had walked in. "House set me up. That one time Wilson walked in--House knew he was going to show up, he planned it."

Foreman frowned at him. "You sure?"

"Yes!" He stared at his half-full glass, and decided to finish it.

"So House is using you to get to Wilson?" Foreman asked while he was swallowing.

"To get Wilson... something," he said, and now he was dizzy. But at least he'd found a handle on House, now, he had something that made both House's involvement and his distance make sense.

Foreman was looking at him half-concerned, half-amused. "So are you going to be okay with this?"

He took a deep breath. "I... I don't think I mind, really. Explains a few things."

Foreman squinted at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, if you want to prove you're House's bitch, you're doing a good job of it."

* * *

That thought kept him going until a couple days later, when Wilson said yes.

And then, all of a sudden, the bottom dropped out of his stomach, and he was staring at Wilson who was looking at him and not budging. And House expected--he didn't even dare look at House, just nodded and turned to close the blinds.

Doors locked. Last thing he needed was Cameron or someone walking in and freaking the fuck out.

The absolute last thing he needed, actually, was to start freaking out himself.

Right. Blowjob. He didn't look at Wilson's face as he got down on his knees in front of his chair, scooted a bit closer, and started taking off the other man's belt. His fingers felt thick and useless as he pulled down the tiny zipper on Wilson's fly, and he could feel the bite of the notch on the tab, the individual twill fibers on the fabric as he worked it open. Wilson wore briefs. Chase felt a flash of shame when he reached forward--_oh, fuck, I'm going to be touching another guy's dick_\--but he was going to be _sucking_ his dick, so really, he had to get over it and right now. Getting Wilson's briefs open backwards was a pain.

He didn't know what to expect in terms of taste, but when he leaned forward and got the head of Wilson's dick in his mouth, it tasted just like skin, no worse than licking his own fingers, just salty-clean. Wilson was circumcised--like _that_ was a shock--and he inhaled sharply when Chase licked his tongue across the ridge on the underside of his glans. He could feel Wilson's dick twitch in his hand, at that, and--Wilson was getting hard and _he was doing that_\--

_This is really gay,_ he couldn't help thinking as he moved his head down, Wilson's dick sliding over the back of his tongue.

_Fuck it,_ he thought a moment later, _I've had a man's hand up my arse, it's a **little** late to start thinking about that now._

He pulled back to catch his breath, swirled his tongue around the head of Wilson's dick--he'd always loved his girlfriends doing that to him, so why not. He was starting to taste something muskier than just sweat, but he pulled back and swallowed the taste down anyway. It wasn't as hard as he'd feared. Wilson didn't seem to mind, anyway; Chase could hear his breathing, ragged and harsh, and he worked on swallowing further every time he pushed his head forward.

The next time he pulled back, he decided to just go for it. He took a deep breath and convinced his throat to _swallow_\--

He fucked it up the first time, backed off and coughed, but fuck it the second time he could feel Wilson's dick all the way back in his fucking throat, just like he'd practiced, and Wilson made a noise in a register Chase had never heard before. He had to pull back and breathe, after a second, but the next time he went down Wilson grabbed his hair and gasped incoherent syllables as he came.

His throat felt fucking _weird_ when he pulled back, Wilson's hands gone limp and sliding off his head. He coughed a few times to try and clear it, but that didn't work.

"Nice job," House said.

Chase buried his head in Wilson's thigh and tried not to laugh. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Wilson said, "thanks."

He couldn't help laughing, then. Fine, he'd be the conduit for their incredibly gay affair. As long as he got his, that was just _fine_.

That night he couldn't stop thinking about the noises Wilson made when he came. He jerked off with the taste still in his throat, lay awake in the dark thinking for a long time.

* * *

"So can we just..." he asked House the next day, and swallowed when he got The Look turned on him. "Um, could you not drag Wilson in for a while?"

"Jealous?" House asked.

"No, it's not--"

"My rules, remember."

Chase took a deep breath, nodded resignedly.

"But don't worry," House continued. "You can have a break from the other prettiest doctor in the hospital. Sit down."

He sat, listening to the now-familiar sound of House locking the office up. Then House pulled his belt off and wrapped it around Chase's right arm, strapping him to the armrest of the chair.

"I--" he said, but didn't struggle as House double-looped the belt and then buckled it closed. It wouldn't be impossible to slip free, he tested as House reached down and undid his belt, but tricky--and House yanked his belt off and used it to strap down his other arm.

House stood up and looked down at him, surveying his handiwork, and Chase grabbed ahold of the chair and felt flutters of tension start in his chest. House shifted his weight and swung the handle of his cane down and ran it straight up Chase's dick, and Chase yelped.

"Hmm," House said, and reached back for his own chair. That one had wheels. Chase waited on edge, fingers tensing and releasing, as House took his seat and then reached out for his fly.

"So you are jealous," he said, when he'd got Chase's dick out. He let go and spun his cane a couple times, smirking at what Chase guessed had to be a funny expression on his face as he sat there just wanting House to _touch_ him.

"'M not," he argued feebly.

"Right," House said, and then he pressed the handle of his cane against Chase's dick again, except this time he could feel the warmth of the wood from where House's fingers had been wrapped around it, the handle flat against the length of his prick, sticking against his skin as House dragged it upwards.

"Fuuuuck," he exhaled.

House smirked down at him, and Chase was pinned there, staring up at House's sardonic gaze. "C'mon," House said. "You want to be the center of attention, and now you're worried I'm going to leave you for Wilson."

"I don't think you--" he tried to protest, then keened as House massaged the head of his dick with the cane, and fuck FUCK he couldn't think straight.

"Because the truth is, this is a favor," House said, "And you should realize that."

He whimpered and tried to push his hips forward, and he knew it was ridiculous, and House pulled the cane _away_ which was _awful._

"Favor," he repeated, trying to string together coherent thought.

"Mm-hmm," House said, and pressed the cane back against him again.

"'K-kay," he stuttered, and he didn't get to think after that, he couldn't do anything but concentrate on how this felt, how he shouldn't be so fucking turned on by this, but the not being able to move and House's smirk and House's cane, fuck, he didn't think he had a fetish but he was starting to understand why people got them.

"So don't worry your pretty little head about it," House said, and he shifted his wrist until he was rubbing just the right spot, and Chase's head fell forward and he moaned. "I'll take care of you."

"Fucking _Christ_..."

"Yes?" House asked, pressing harder.

"Yes!"

House chuckled, then reached out and pushed his fingers along Chase's scalp, tugging his hair and tilting his head back until once again he was staring into House's amused gaze. "When you're ready," House said, then brushed his thumb against Chase's hairline and pressed, rocking gently, with his cane.

Chase closed his eyes and _whimpered_, as his orgasm hit suddenly in his hindbrain, pulsing up and down the length of his dick until he collapsed, pulling against the straps on his arms and breathing hard.

When he blinked his eyes open, House was holding his cane up in front of his nose. He had to blink a couple times before he realized the handle was splattered with... right.

He looked up. House raised his eyebrows and wiggled the cane suggestively.

"You're not serious," Chase said.

House nodded and wiggled the cane again.

Chase took a deep breath, smelling sweat and varnish and semen, and leaned forward. He trailed his tongue along the handle until he tasted the smear of his come, sharp with musk and salt, and licked it up as best he could. His blood was racing again by the time he was done, making him dizzy.

"Good," House said when he looked up again. "Just keep that all in mind, okay?"

House unbuckled his arms, and let him clean himself up. When Chase looked, House was wiping his spit off the handle of his cane.

"Sorry," he said.

House looked up and snorted. "Nothing some disinfectant won't fix."

"Right." He reached up, rubbed his face for a moment.

"You are okay with this, right?"

Chase met House's gaze, saw the bit of concern House was trying to hide, smiled. "Don't worry. I think I remember my place."

* * *

They were up to their eyes in work after that for a while, enough that Chase didn't have time to think about sex at work, because by the time they'd finished making sure their patients didn't die he headed home and fell directly asleep. It was several weeks before House paged him and told him to sneak down to Exam Room 2 after hours and not let anyone see him.

He got to the clinic as the nurses were cleaning up the last of the day's busywork, slipped into the empty exam room like he belonged there.

When House showed up, he jerked his head at the table and said, "Lie down and take your shirt off."

He was confused for a second until House pulled out a sterilized scalpel, and then his brain jumped the track. _Shit, that was on the list, I actually did write that down._

"In case you're wondering," House said when he hadn't moved, "I do want your explicit consent for this one."

"I... yes," he said, suddenly feeling like he didn't have enough oxygen.

"Okay. Lie down and take your shirt off." House pulled a packet of iodine from the drawer, then picked out and put on a pair of latex gloves. He waited until Chase was lying down, starting to get goosebumps, before he asked, "Do you want a safeword for this one?"

Chase swallowed against the thick feeling in his throat. "I think I'd better," he said. "Ahh... red, yellow, green?"

"Sounds good to me." House dropped the scalpel and a packet of needles on a tray, pushed it next to Chase's elbow. Then he ripped the iodine open and smeared chilly brown gel over Chase's stomach and chest.

It was mostly cold he was shivering from, he told himself when House drew out the scalpel. Mostly. House watched him for a moment, rolling the scalpel in his fingers, then leaned over and touched the blade to his sternum.

"Ah--" Chase said, more from the unexpected touch than anything, then watched as House drew the blade straight down his chest, one swift movement.

It didn't hurt, at first, and then the blood started welling up on his skin and everything _burned_. "Ahh--" he gasped, curling his fingers around the edge of the table to keep from moving, straining against the shock and the pain. He sucked air, shaking, until he could look away.

House was watching him, scalpel ready. Chase took another deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I mean, green. Go."

"Okay," House said.

He started cutting again, this time short, measured strokes right under Chase's pecs, each one feather-light and leaving lines of pain so sharp that at times he couldn't tell if it was hurting or freezing, or burning. And after a minute he could barely feel anything but the hand House was balancing on his hip, the soft strokes of the blade far away, wrapping his all-too-real pain in a blanket of vertigo.

Endorphins, he told himself, and giggled. House gave him a sharp look, and he said "Green" again in case it was in doubt.

House put down the scalpel and pulled out the needles.

The first one House put in along his ribcage, and he could feel it rubbing against the bone when he leaned up to try and look. House pushed him back down and stuck the next one sideways through his left nipple.

"Unh," he grunted, as the jolt jumped straight down his spinal cord and across to his dick, mixing with all the sensations and feelings on his skin. And then House reached down and _tugged_ on it, and in the painpleasureshock! Chase came without House even _touching_ him.

He was floating in a nice hazy space until House yanked the needle out of his tit. "Ow," he said, and then everything started to hurt. "Fuck! Ow!"

"Hold still," House said, as he slid the other one out, which didn't hurt nearly as badly. Then he was wiping Chase's stomach off, gently, pressing gauze against the bits that stung.

Chase leaned his head back, stared at the ceiling lights as House taped him up. "This wasn't as good an idea as I thought."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself," House said, and unzipped Chase's pants as if to prove it.

"Hey," Chase said, as House started to clean him off, "I can--" and then he tried to sit up, and bandaged or not that strip of skin right under his pecs hurt like fuck. "Um. Ow."

"Lie back, that's an order," House said.

Chase lay back and surrendered to House's ministrations. Afterward, he gingerly put on his shirt and straightened himself out.

"Are you still getting what you want out of this?" House asked.

Chase nodded, pressing a hand against the sore place on his chest. "I think so."

"Good." House dropped the needles into the sharps bin, slid off his gloves. "Good to know."

* * *

The next morning he got up to change the bandages and caught sight of himself in the mirror. House had actually written something in knife-strokes, in oddly unjoined letters that stood out in red against his skin and leaped into focus in the reflection. "DON'T FLINCH TOMORROW".

He stood there smirking at it for a while, then bandaged himself up again.

Not flinching was easier when the tape he'd used didn't ride up, of course, and he found himself in the locker room looking for more so he could strap the gauze down again when Foreman found him. "You okay?"

Chase grumbled. "Tape, I just need to tape this bandage down s'more, that's all. Don't worry, you're going to be late."

"You're going to be late," Foreman pointed out. He turned and dug through his own locker, pulled a thin roll of the stuff out of his bag. "Here."

"You a boy scout, ever?" Chase pulled up his shirt and repaired the damage he'd done to the gauze. "Thanks."

"Hey, wait a minute," Foreman said.

Chase looked up. Foreman was staring at him askance. "What?"

Foreman pointed at the bandages. "What the hell is that?"

"Nothing." He tugged his shirt down, handed back the tape. "Thanks."

Foreman glanced around quickly, then lowered his voice and demanded, "What the hell are you and House up to now?"

"It's nothing!" Chase protested. "Seriously, it doesn't even hurt." Which was a slight exaggeration, but damned if he was going to flinch _now_.

"I call foul. If you are bleeding, over that large an area--"

Shit. When Foreman got his principles into it, people got their jobs fucked with. "No, wait, wait, listen, listen," Chase said. "Seriously, don't. I'll tell you anything you want to know, but wait until later, all right? Just don't do anything now?"

Foreman glared. Chase silently pleaded. Finally, Foreman sighed and put up his hands. "Fine. But if this is as fucked-up as I think it is..." He let the threat trail off, and it was definitely scarier unstated.

Shit.

In any case, they got to the office on time, just in time for House to send them all on errands after their patient's flesh, blood, and excreta. Chase tried to push the conversation from his mind.

He was coming back to the office with biopsy results when he saw Foreman and Cameron up ahead, and pushed to catch up with them.

"Do you think Chase is acting weird?" Cameron said. Chase choked on his _Hey, guys_ and slowed down a bit.

Foreman tilted his head a bit. "Weird for Chase, you mean?"

He supposed he should take that as an insult, but Cameron just shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess you're right... hey, do you think House is mad at me?"

"Why would I think that?" Foreman asked. Chase felt his shoulders start unknotting, was startled to realize how worried he'd been.

"Well, he questioned my judgment three times this morning. Not my conclusions, my _judgment_. That's a lot."

"You're taking it too personally."

Chase sped up again until he could overtake them. "Hey, guys," he said, and held up the biopsy results. "Weird skin bumps are not melanoma."

Cameron sighed. "I'll tell House."

Chase traded a glance with Foreman. "I can tell Wilson," Foreman offered.

"Nah, I'll do it," Chase said.

He just had this feeling that today, if Foreman got Wilson alone, things would explode. So he stuck his head into Wilson's office, checked that he was alone, and said, "Hey, patient's skin bumps aren't cancer."

"Good to know," Wilson said. "So what's that make the score?"

Chase rolled his eyes and counted. "Two for Cameron, four for Foreman, one for me, one for you, and six for House."

"House said you should get negative points for that amoxicillin screwup," Wilson said. Chase scoffed. Wilson continued, "That or he'd cane you for it, I couldn't make that part out."

Chase glanced back over his shoulder, then said, "He told _me_ he didn't want me talking that up at work."

"Maybe you should tell him to keep his mouth shut, then," Wilson said.

Chase shrugged. "I just follow orders," he said, then ducked out.

Patient survived and was stable at the end of the day. Foreman nearly dragged Chase to the bar, sat him down in a booth with a pint in front of him, and demanded, "Explain."

"It's not a big deal, all right?"

Foreman stared at him for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "You _fucking our boss_ is already a big deal," he explained slowly. "You getting _cut_ takes it to a whole other level of fucked up."

"You don't--" understand, he was going to say, but he cut himself off when Foreman's glare went up a notch. He closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "It's not like that. I asked, okay?"

"I don't care if you gave him an inscribed invitation--"

"I basically did, all right?" He sighed under Foreman's stare. "We took precautions; it wasn't all that dangerous."

Foreman shook his head. "It's still--that's not _sex_."

"It's an endorphin rush, that's enough." Foreman didn't look convinced, but he looked calmer. Chase cleared his throat and asked, "Is it better if I say it's not going to happen again?"

Foreman took a deep breath. "Just... why the fuck are you doing this?"

Chase swallowed. "Um," he said, and then said, "I just... I've been trying to experiment, and--it's an endorphin rush, like I said. It was worth it."

"No," Foreman said, "_jogging_ is an endorphin rush. And you didn't answer my question."

Chase chewed on the inside of his lip. "You mean... why the whole... thing?"

"Yeah. Explain _that_."

Foreman sat back and waited as Chase tried to sort that one out. Truth was, he didn't have--he had reasons, yeah, but most of them just boiled down to _I wanted to, and I couldn't ask anyone but House._

"I just... wanted things," he finally said, getting flashbacks to the initial conversation he'd had with House, back when this had started. "And yeah it sounds fucked up, and yeah some of it's... unsafe, if you fuck it up. But I knew House wouldn't fuck it up."

Foreman nodded after a second. "So that's why House. Why'd you let him carve his name on your chest?"

"He actually wrote--" Chase started, then realized Foreman really wasn't interested. "Um. I just... wanted to."

"This isn't one of those 'relive past tragedy in order to put it behind you' things, is it?" Foreman said suspiciously.

"Oh fuck no," Chase said, appalled. "No. No way."

"Just checking."

Chase took a breath. "I just... had this list of things. And it's like, I think it's helping me... figure some things out, in my head." And just saying it like that, it sounded incredibly juvenile, all of a sudden. Like he could check things off on a list and then miraculously everything would be okay, he'd have money and respect and everything he ever wanted.

Foreman looked like he was considering that answer, though, so that was good. "You had a list?"

"Yeah."

"What else is on it?"

Chase thought over the things he'd written down, mentally checking things off, and was brought up short. "Um. Actually, there's... kinda only one thing left."

"Which is?"

He hesitated. Foreman gave him a look.

"Um, it's not really--"

"Seriously, man. Just tell me."

Chase swallowed. "I... asked him to... fuck me while I'm out on date-rape drugs."

Foreman stared at him for a moment, then said, "How does that make any fucking sense?"

"It's not--it's about trust, that's all." Chase scrubbed at his eyebrows, itchy and unhappy and why the hell did he get into this conversation in the first place.

Foreman was frowning at him when he looked up. "You're saying this whole thing has been some kind of series of sexual trust falls?"

He snorted. "Something like that, I guess, yeah."

"You could just go to a seminar for that shit."

Chase shook his head, slowly.

Foreman sighed. "The sex is that important?"

That, he had an answer for. "It makes it more real."

"Jesus Christ."

Chase waited as Foreman moodily stared at the table, thinking it over. He was suddenly acutely aware that it was his rather poor explanation versus Foreman's sense of propriety, and if he'd fucked it up, he'd either be fired, or have to stop this... experiment right before it was going to pay off, or try to sneak around behind Foreman's back, which hadn't exactly worked so far.

Fuck, maybe he wanted to stop. Maybe he'd sabotaged the whole thing on purpose.

Finally Foreman looked up. "You really did think about all this shit before you started?"

He nodded.

"Fuck it. I don't understand it, but you're an adult, you can make your own decisions," Foreman said. It sounded like a concession. "Just promise me if you have any reservations you'll stop?"

Chase nodded, then smiled, faintly dizzy. "I didn't know you cared."

Foreman snorted. "Yeah, well. Getting a new co-worker and a new boss is always a pain in the ass."

* * *

Chase woke up, dizzy--

Wait, that didn't make any sense.

He blinked a few times, eyes gritty. When he could see, he focused his eyes on the black things in front of him. Chair legs, he worked out after a second, and someone's feet, and he was on the floor, of course.

Wait, _that_ didn't make sense, either. Why the fuck was he on the floor?

"Mmmf," he complained coherently, and tilted his head so he could look upward. House's face, looking down at him, slightly out of focus.

House stared down. Chase stared up. "Why am I on the floor?" he finally figured out how to ask.

"I put you there so you wouldn't fall down," House said.

That sounded a lot more rational than it probably was. Chase licked around his teeth, pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes.

When he looked up again, House handed him a glass of water. "How do you feel?"

"Kinda... stoned," he reported. "What happened?" He looked down at the water, tried to decide if it was a good idea, then took a sip. As soon as the liquid hit his throat he realized he was fucking dehydrated, and started swallowing as much as he could.

"Someone might have put chloral hydrate in your coffee."

He stopped drinking.

When he looked up, House nodded.

He swallowed the last of his water. "Did..."

"No," House said.

Chase didn't know whether to feel relieved or rejected. House continued, "I wanted to test the dosage."

"Oh."

He took a deep breath, and settled on... okay. All right. Terrified, with a gap in his memory that started sometime after his pager had gone off that afternoon, but all right. He drank the rest of the water, sat staring at the empty cup.

"I also want you to think about this," House said. "If it's really what you want."

Chase frowned, peevishly tired of having his judgment questioned, first by Foreman and now by House. "I _said_ that I--"

"I mean _think_ about it," House cut him off. "Go home. Sober up. Actually think. Well, sober up and then go home if you're driving. But the thinking is the important part."

Chase let that sink in for a moment, then nodded. He rolled the empty glass around in his hands, fuzzy-headed with confusion, trying to sort out how he was really feeling. "And if I still say yes," he started to ask, "that I want you to--"

"Then I will," House said.

All his drug-addled brain coughed up at that was _House is going to fuck me._ He nodded, too rattled to talk.

House drummed his cane on the floor. Chase rubbed his head. House asked, "Do you want Wilson in on it?"

And that was a jolt. "I--yeah, if you can convince him."

House nodded. "Good to know."

He thought about that, that night, much more sober but nearly asleep. House wanted him to think about getting knocked out and fucked, but he didn't seem to want Chase thinking about Wilson.

He thought about Wilson; he thought about Wilson fucking him because House had said to. The expression on Wilson's face when he'd walked in.

When he finally went to sleep, he knew he'd still say yes in the morning.

* * *

The drugs made it a little hard to think, but by the time he got to the locker room, Chase's mind was running a fairly steady litany of "Okay, okay, okay." Except the part that was going "Holy _fuck._"

He rested his head against his locker and took a few deep breaths.

"You okay?" Foreman asked.

Chase didn't even look up. "Are you stalking me, or what?"

"I didn't see you leave, decided to wait and see if you were all right." Foreman had his arms crossed, watching him.

"So you're stalking me."

"Are you okay?"

"You waited in here for an _hour_."

"I brought a book," Foreman said.

Chase stared at him, then burst out laughing. "Fuck it. I am never telling anyone I'm into BDSM again. I'm not a child."

Foreman nodded, slowly, then asked, "How did the date-rape go?"

Chase didn't even ask how he knew. He took a deep breath, swallowed against the tingling feeling in his stomach. "I--good," he said. "I mean... shit, I guess it sounds fucked up."

"Well, it seemed to mean a lot to you," Foreman said.

He laughed feebly, stepped back and sat down on the bench. "Fucking hell."

"So," Foreman said, sitting down next to him.

Chase spread his hands. "I feel... I mean, it's weird."

"Weird doesn't _start_," Foreman muttered.

He laughed again. "Yeah. Fuck. I feel--" He grimaced, because 're-baptized' felt way too sacrilegious. "Like I've put something behind me, or like I've..."

Foreman was eying him, amused.

He grinned sheepishly. "Um, like I've got people I can trust."

"Oh, good, the fucked-up sex story has a moral," Foreman said. "You gonna be okay getting home?"

Chase rolled his eyes. "I turned down Wilson's ride already. Seriously, I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Foreman clapped him on the shoulder. "Safe sex from now on, okay?"

"Safe, sane, and consensual," Chase quipped.

Foreman stood up and gave him a look. Then he seemed to shrug it off. "Glad it worked out all right."

"Thanks," Chase said. He waited alone for a while, for the dizziness to subside, before heading home.


End file.
